


Oliver Wood drabbles

by Rospberry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Language, Multi, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 15:04:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10192556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rospberry/pseuds/Rospberry
Summary: A wee collection of random Oliver Wood drabbles with various pairings.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Общие душевые](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13502066) by [Rassda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rassda/pseuds/Rassda)



> Starts with a few Marcus/Oliver (my absolute favourite Potter universe pairing), then Oliver/Cedric, then a sort of Oliver/Cedric/Harry, and last one is Oliver/Rita...just in case you want to avoid that one!

Bludger (Marcus/Oliver)

 

Oliver stood in the shadows of the stands, watching.

Flint flew like a devil, hard turns and sharp thrusting feints, dodging the Bludger with ease, and sending it slamming through the hoop with one aggressive swipe. Quaffle with another.

Does he fuck like he flies? Oliver wondered. Would those rough hands pin him against the stands, grip tightly as a tongue thrust into his mouth?

Oliver scratched the back of his neck and looked away. Dinner was imminent, and Flint would soon be finished. He had to go.

On the pitch, Marcus hovered, watching the departing figure with calculating eyes.

 

Celebrate (Marcus/Oliver)

 

"Oi, Wood!"

Oliver turned. "What?"

"You lost something?" Marcus was holding up Oliver's scarf.

Oliver touched his neck automatically, fingers finding chilled, exposed skin. "Aye. Bugger. Did I leave it in the...?"

"Pub. Yeah." Marcus stepped close, looping the scarf over Oliver's head and around his throat, tugging the ends - and Oliver - towards him. Warm, beery breath circled Oliver's nostrils.

"Thanks," Oliver said, swallowing nervously. "I...er..."

"You're askin' me home," Marcus finished. "For a shag." Crooked teeth glinted in the streetlights. "To celebrate your win."

_Your team won_ , Oliver thought, but didn't say. He stepped closer. "Aye, so I was."

 

Communal Showers (Marcus/Oliver)

 

Communal showers, with their 'try not to stare at your mate's bollocks or he might rip yours off', were always a pain in the arse for Marcus Flint.

Never one to give much thought to where his eyes strayed, it was easy to forget, but he was always ready with a foul-mouthed insult.

But when the Gryffindor showers were broken, and a certain Scottish Keeper was soaping his cock not three feet away, Marcus found he could only stare.

And when the Keeper realised he was being watched, the only thing to fall from Marcus's lips was a muttered, "Nice."

 

Communal Showers 2 (or what happened when Marcus stopped staring) (Marcus/Oliver)

 

Openly perving at a bloke had consequences as Marcus painfully discovered.

He had no issues with Wood's hand being on his cock, but could have done without the angry, twisting grip that raised him to his toes.

"Nice, Flint?" Deceptively innocent brown eyes sparkled and Marcus made the mistake of thinking it was with mirth.

"Yeah, well, it was that or tasty, but I thought-" Fingers tightened. "Fuckin' hell, Wood," Marcus yelped, " ease off or you'll break summat."

"Huge," said Wood. "The word huge was what you were looking for."

"Fine," Marcus squeaked. "Huge."

And he wasn't even lying.

 

Fairytale Ending (Marcus/Oliver, other)

 

_"Someone sitting here?"_

_"Not unless they're fuckin' invisible, Wood."_

_Oliver slid on to the stool and gestured to the barman. "Won't mind me sitting here, then. You want a pint?"_

_"What's this look like? Piss?"_

_"Aye, it does, actually. You want another one?"_

_Marcus scowled. "Tastes like piss 'n all. Yeah, if you're payin' then I might as well."_

"An that's how you an' Dad got together?"

Their daughter's large brown eyes stared up at Oliver as he retrieved the tendrils of memory from the Pensieve.

"Not quite Cinderella, eh?"

"Nah," she giggled, "more like Beauty an' the Beast."

 

Hand-shake (Oliver/Cedric)

 

They shook hands at the start of the game, just like they always did. But this time was different.

This time Diggory held on a fraction longer, sliding his thumb back and forth across Oliver's palm - a gesture that shot straight to Oliver's cock - then let go and stepped back, tilting his head and flashing Oliver a hesitant grin.

Oliver stared, completely thrown, and it was only the piercing sound of Madam Hooch's whistle that forced his eyes away. When he looked back, the Hufflepuff Captain was gone, and the Gryffindors were bellowing for him to take flight.

 

Team Support (Oliver/Cedric/Harry if you want it to be, and featuring Ron) A ficlet.

 

Harry could see copies of the _Daily Prophet_ everywhere, his own face blinking at him from the cover. He groaned.

"No one'll believe it, mate," Ron said consolingly, patting his arm. Someone let out a wolf whistle and Ron snatched his hand away, sliding fractionally away from Harry along the bench.

"Yeah, I can see that," Harry said dryly. "'Hero in Quidditch Love Triangle'? Where do they get this stuff?"

When Ron didn't answer, Harry looked up, suddenly realising the room had gone suspiciously quiet.

"Budge up, Ron," a soft Scottish voice ordered, and a warm body slid into the space on Harry's right as Ron complied.

"Mornin'," Oliver said, snagging a piece of toast from Harry's plate, and dropping a well-worn Quidditch glove onto the table in front of him. "You left this in my room last night."

"That's not..." Harry began, but was interrupted.

"I wondered where that had got to." Cedric reached over Harry's shoulder and picked up the glove, flicking it off the back of Harry's head as he clambered over the bench to sit on Harry's left. "No-one minds if I sit here, do they?"

There were no objections, only a silent row of shaking heads, and Cedric flashed them all a beatific smile. "Thanks."

"Hey," he said, nudging Harry in the ribs. "Photo doesn't do you justice." Then louder: "Does it, Ol?"

"Nah," Oliver said around a mouthful of toast. "He should have been in his Quidditch gear. Much better picture."

Harry picked up one of the papers and opened it out, disappearing behind it before anyone could see him blush.

 

Headline News (Oliver Wood/Rita Skeeter)

 

"Your broomstick certainly lived up to its reputation," Rita Skeeter purred as she trailed long, garishly-painted finger nails across Oliver Wood's taut stomach.

Puddlemere United's newest acquisition tried to focus, too much Firewhisky making the previous night's events a bit of a blur. His throat felt raw, and he coughed before asking, "Did we...?"

Rita smirked and pointedly looked down at his body; he followed her gaze, seeing traces of her lipstick smeared across most of his bare flesh. The trail led downwards towards the sheet draped across his hips.

'Puddlemere's Tastiest Player' read _The Daily Prophet_ the next day.


End file.
